


Old Enemies

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 23:38:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In the episode "The Expendables", Goniff sniffed disdainfully after Major Richards left the room, and told the others something along the line of "it's blokes like that's the reason I left England".  Well, perhaps that was partially true.  But certainly, probably not the only reason, not the MAIN reason.  The rest of it?  Well, it seems Maxie wasn't the only old enemy Goniff had left behind.  There were at least two more, and they've just caught up with him.  Old enemies and new friends  - just NOT a healthy combination, not for Goniff, and unless he can pull off a masterful performance, not for his friends either.





	Old Enemies

The first sighting was in London. Well, at least Johnny Farrell saw HIM, though Goniff hadn't seen Farrell. Wouldn't have expected to, either; last he'd heard the brothers were in Australia. That was one of the first things he'd asked when he got back to London. The big ugly man watched the slender blond from the alley, narrowed his eyes in thought, then went to start asking a few questions. He needed answers before he and his brother made a move; they had a debt to repay. A really big debt, long overdue.

It started with the cryptic messages - "Welcome home, Grainger"; "Welcome home, lady-killer"; "Missed you"; "Hope to see you again soon". He puzzled over them, was teased by the guys about having a 'secret admirer', but although odd, they didn't seem threatening. He just shrugged them off.

Then the messages started getting, if not less cryptic, then a lot harder to overlook. The failed brakes on the jeep, when Chief had been driving, Private Perkins finding that message chalked on the inside of the hood of the battered vehicle, "friends like him are risky business"; the shot out of nowhere, just missing Casino as he left Josie's place; the toughs cornering Actor with a warning, a message, that same "friends like him . . ." one. The note to Garrison, "not too particular about the company you keep, are you, Lieutenant?"

Goniff's name wasn't mentioned in any of the 'messages', though, and although they all discussed what was happening, tried to figure it all out, there wasn't anything they could put their fingers on. Til, there it was. A note passed to Goniff at the pub from a total stranger, one who disappeared from view as quickly as he'd arrived. He'd gone to the loo to open it, read it, and felt sick to his stomach - old enemies and new friends were an unhealthy combination. He didn't say anything to the guys, anything to anyone. This was his problem, his to fix before those threats, those promises became reality. 

And the last, the message just for him - a totally unsubtle message that pulled it all out into the open. Sergeant Major had opened the package addressed to Goniff, just like he did all packages that arrived, just standard procedure. While some admittedly strange things did arrive on occasion, this was different, and he was a little pale when he took the box containing the dead rabbit, gutted and with a cord tied so tight around its neck that it was almost decapitated.

"Lieutenant, I think we 'ave a problem," and a quick look told Garrison that Gil was right. The men were in London on a twenty-four hour pass, but Garrison wasn't inclined to wait for their return. He and Rawlins left immediately, hopefully catching up with the guys, and Meghada, at Hotel Marchant. They took the box with them. And the note. That oh-so-damning note, the one calling Goniff a lying dog, a seducer, accusing him of the death of their sister. Calling their resident pickpocket a murderer.

Leaving Rawlins downstairs, Garrison made his way to the room Henri Marchant had allocated to the men. Whatever Garrison had been expecting, it wasn't the slow metamorphosis that came over their resident pickpocket at the sight of the dead rabbit, that damning accusation. Goniff quietly fingered the note in his own pocket, the one that had been delivered earlier, the one telling him where to meet them if he wanted to keep his friends alive and in one piece.

Now, his friends watched as he slowly, deliberately became someone else, someone they didn't recognize. Now he was coolly aloof, coldly observing everyone around him, observing her, as if they were little more than strangers. There was none of the mischief-maker, none of the clown, none of the mother hen. There was only this tightly restrained, highly alert, possibly dangerous individual.

He had already accepted that this was the end of any warmth, any possibility of anything different. It was necessary, to protect those he cared for, no matter the cost to him. The first payment was hard, though probably easier than the payment to come; well, at least it was probably quicker than that next payment would be. The first payment - pushing them as far away from him as he could so they wouldn't be tempted to interfere, so they wouldn't care when he didn't come back, would just write him off as 'good riddance'.

His voice came out colder than his face, a smile that wasn't a smile framing his ever so casual words, accompanied by an uncaring shrug, "long time ago, water under the bridge, Warden. Can 'ardly even remember w'at she looked like, you know? Doubt any cept 'er brothers even remember bout 'er and me." That brought an uneasy look to the men's faces; that didn't sound like Goniff, not at all.

Actor spoke first, his voice not accusing, but measured and neutral, "the note. It says you killed her."

The cruel little laugh came far too easily, shocked each of the men. Another indifferent shrug, "maybe so. No charges ever made, not that I know of, not that I 'ung around to find out, acourse. Nothing to worry you guys over, ei? Don't see it matters much now. Don't affect my sticky fingers on the job, now does it." He looked around the room, ice in his blue eyes, not letting himself focus on any one person, refusing to even look at Meghada. Well, except his eyes stopped when they met the stunned eyes of Craig Garrison.

A little snort of scorn, of resigned disgust, another shrug, "well, maybe it does, after all. Ta, mates," and he turned and walked out the door and closed it behind him. Outside, in the hallway, he took a moment to lean his head back against the wall, took a deep breath, and breathed a silent "goodbye, mates. Goodbye, 'Gaida," swallowed deeply and turned to make his way toward the stairs, on toward the final payment he had to make to keep them all safe. His mouth, not in its usual cocky grin, or clownish smile, not even that icy cold smile he'd put on his face a few minutes ago, but in a deeply bitter, ironic self-depreciating twist. He had lost her now, he didn't doubt that, hadn't had to look at her to know that.

It wasn't what he wanted, leaving her, the guys thinking badly of him, but what he always knew would happen. How else could it be with someone like him? He pulled away, walked away, knowing what was waiting in the shadows. "They didn't try to stop me," he told himself, "won't matter to them". He might survive, he might not. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care very much one way or the other. He'd already lost pretty much everything that mattered to him.

She froze, stunned at him, at her reaction to him. It wasn't as if she didn't relish each of his personas, each of his seemingly endless avatars. She did, relished and cherished each of them, and each could cause her to melt inside as if she was made of molten honey, some quicker, some more slowly. But this, whether his true self or yet another role, the arrogant twist to his mouth, the upraised defiant head, this caught at her in some special way. For him in each of the roles he played, she would have been moved to defend him, to protect him at all cost, without question. But for him, in this form, she would have cast herself at his feet, her, the Dragon, willingly acknowledging his dominance. Her, the Dragon, who had never acknowledged anyone as her superior, her master, whether at the making or wearing of masks or anything else.

She had watched, and listened, and wondered just what he was trying to accomplish with that remarkable performance. When he turned, with that cold, sardonic smile, and walked away from them all, closing that door firmly behind him, she waited a few seconds, then turned to the others to read their faces. That he was bleeding underneath, perhaps she was the only one who saw that; she didn't know, but it was possible, though she had expected more of them. And that angered her, more than she could imagine, more than she could express. Angered her, and she rejected the whole concept, lock, stock and barrel. He was too valuable, worth too much, for her to let this happen, to let himself sacrifice himself like this, for she couldn't conceive of it being anything else even though she wasn't privy to the reason behind it.

She drew in her breath, wondering what to say, and realized there really wasn't anything TO be said, and likely no time either, except a quick, "I have to get out of these damned shoes; I can't manoeuvre in them!" and dashed from their room to hers, stripping the fancy strapped high heels as she went, loosening the fastenings on her long skirt as well. The men looked after her, then at each other.

Casino growled, "They'll be waitin for him."

"Yeah, Warden, how much of a head start do we give him?" came with a calm look from Chief.

Garrison looked around from where he was checking his pistol, heard the slam of a door, "This much, and we'd better hurry if we want to catch up to Meghada."

Actor frowned, "Craig, YOU should probably not be involved," only to get his second icy stare of the evening.

"Let's move!"

The attack came hard and fast, and when he saw just how many there were, he gave a quick feral snarl. No, he wasn't getting out of this one. He didn't try to run, to dodge away, just moved in toward Farrell. This showdown was well overdue, might have been better for everyone concerned if it had happened before he left England in the first place, before he had anything TO lose, before he had anyone to disappoint. He looked at the knife in Farrell's hand, in the hands of the two flanking him, the chains and clubs held by the other two, and off to the side, Montgomery had a pistol at the ready. {"Just in case I overpower the whole ruddy lot of them, I suppose!"} he snorted to himself.

He tensed as he felt more bodies closing in from behind, wondering just how many more the Farrells had thought it necessary to bring to take down one man. He didn't turn to look; what difference would it possibly make to the final outcome? He tightened his grip on the palm knife in his hand; it wouldn't get him anywhere, but he refused to go down with them unbloodied. He would have brought a gun, if there had been one available, but other than Garrison's, there hadn't been, and he'd never have been able to snatch that one.

His head suddenly jerked and a puzzled frown settled onto his face, realizing he felt the threat ONLY from the front, not from the rear. His eyes widened as a fast glance to the left confirmed what he knew had to be an illusion, just couldn't be real - a stone-faced young man, knife sheath bared in preparation. A slight sound drew his face to the right, where a female shape balanced knives in both hands, cold snarl on her face. He felt the presence of others still behind him, heard their breathing, two, maybe even three.

He made one desperate attempt at common sense, "this is my affair; 'ead on out a 'ere!"

A laconic "yeah, like that's gonna happen," came from the rough looking man bearing up at the right.

"I hardly think so, Goniff. Tiresome though this might be, still, one must maintain some standards. You are one of us, after all."

"He killed our sister and you think we're just going to walk away??!" Farrell snorted. 

Meghada looked at the men, slowly, one by one. "Just how many of you are here for personal reasons, and how many for the hire fee? Is the money worth your life? Because that's where this is headed."

Montgomery gestured with the gun in his hand, "you think you can take us, bitch? You and the others, you're the ones going to end up dead, and for what? HIM??!"

The other men, though, they were thinking it over, looking at the coldly determined group in front of them. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go down. It was supposed to be all of them and just the skinny guy, them taking their time with him, inflicting as much damage as possible, making sure he died, eventually, hurting for a long time before the end. Six to one, those were odds they liked; this, well, this was something else again. Yeah, Montgomery had that gun, but so did the officer and maybe the other two in the back, the way they each had one hand inside their jackets. The woman had those frickin knives, and the man on their target's other side now had one in his hand too; somehow they didn't give any reason to doubt they knew how to use them.

Clancy weighed the odds in his head; if they bailed and the Farrells survived, it would only be a matter of time before those two showed up on their doorstep. Still, those quietly waiting bodies in front of them, somehow Clancy knew the Farrells weren't coming out of this. He nodded, "we're gone, Yank; ain't personal with us. Come on, boys," and the quick angry response from the two who hired them reached only shadows quickly gliding away.

Montgomery jerked up his pistol, but a thrown knife finished him, the bullet striking the wall beside Meghada. A second took down Johnny Farrell, and it was over, so quickly it seemed impossible. Well, this part of it was over anyway.

Goniff swallowed heavily, staring in disbelief at the two bodies. {"That's it?? It's over?? Just like that??"} He slowly relaxed his grip on the palm knife, slid it back into his pocket. Garrison was in front now, pistol still in hand as Chief and Meghada retrieved their knives, making sure the other two were dead. Slowly Goniff raised his eyes to those piercing green ones.

"Now w'at?" he asked, without inflection. They'd come to help; that didn't guarantee they'd take him back into the fold afterwards.

There was silence, then a quiet, "now we go home and talk. And THIS time, I want to hear the WHOLE story, Goniff."

Meghada assured Garrison there was no need to deal with the bodies, "I doubt anyone would be surprised at them ending up like this, nor anyone go looking too hard for the reason."

More than one of the guys found that ironic, considering pretty much the same had been said about them on more than one occasion. {"It's different now; now we all have someone, more than one, who'd go looking,"} Chief thought to himself, taking a quick look at the others. Somehow, he figured the same thought was going through all their heads. It felt strange, strange but good.

Garrison had stopped downstairs, sent Rawlins off to a room to get some sleep; he wasn't sure what was going to happen upstairs, just what they'd be hearing, but figured it was better if the Sergeant Major was kept out of it. He'd figure out what, how much to tell the non-com later. Henri Marchant had sent a bottle of good bourbon up to Meghada's room; she retrieved it and they settled down to a good measure poured into each of their glasses. She'd warned Henri that they might have made a few enemies this night, though she wasn't so sure Clancy and his guys really cared one way or the other, as long as they got out with their skins intact. Still, Henri would notify the guards, make sure they weren't disturbed.

Garrison had kept quiet til now, but after everyone had taken a healthy swig, he figured it was time. "Okay, Goniff, start talking. And . . ."

"Yeah, I know, Warden, you want the whole story. Alright." He raised his eyes from his glass, looking into those green eyes, then around the table. He scratched at the back of his head, and a grimace came to his face as he prepared to lay it all out. He didn't like airing his dirty laundry in front of the guys, especially in front of Meghada. Still, it had to be done; they'd earned a right to the story. And thankfully, out of a pretty full basket of dirty laundry he'd managed to accumulate in his life, it wasn't the worst by far. He started with the note in his pocket, handing it off to Garrison who read it aloud, then told them of the one handed to him at the pub threatening all of them, making all those deadly and violent 'promises' if Goniff didn't do what they said, meet them when they sent him word, getting an exasperated glare from Garrison and a rumble of discontent from everyone else. He wasn't sure what that look, that sound from Meghada meant; he figured he'd find out later for sure.

"See, Johnny and Montgomery Farrell, they 'ad a sister. Name of Connie. Didn't 'andle it right, I guess, but I was young," he shrugged, "w'at can I say."

Actor tilted his head, "a sister. And you, what? Fell in love with her? Seduced her like the note said?"

Goniff looked at him, totally appalled. "Blimey, Actor! Said I was young!! Never said I was ruddy stupid, or suicidal neither!" Somehow Garrison was getting the idea NOTHING about this story was going to fall along predictable lines. Well, this was Goniff, after all. Every single time Garrison thought he'd finally figured the man out, he was left with a handful of cobwebs and confusion once again.

"The Farrells, they ran a small-time racket; Connie was the oldest by a long way, probably close to fifty back then, and the brains of the outfit and they woulda probably been bigger than small-time, cept she 'ad a weakness for the blokes. A real man-eater, and one you just didn't say 'no' to; she didn't take kindly to the word, not sure she really knew w'at it meant, not w'en someone said it to 'ER. But she couldn't 'andle more than one thing at a time - it was either the business or 'er current man. She'd take up with a new one, start neglecting the business; then, she'd either get tired of 'im and send 'im on 'is way, or she'd find out 'e'd been slipping around on 'er and she'd see to it 'e never got the chance to do it again. If you were smart, you tried real 'ard not to let 'er notice you in the first place. Thing is, even if she just got bored and shoo'd you off, she was the jealous type; even if she didn't want you anymore, she'd blow a ruddy gasket if you took up with someone else, and there you are again, floating along the bottom of the river!" He took a long drink from the glass in his hand, remembering.

"Funny thing was, some of the guys she figured out were playing around with someone else, they weren't. See, the brothers, they didn't like 'er taking time away from the business; like I said, she was the brains. When she didn't focus, their income, the whole operation went straight to 'ell. And while it weren't always the brothers that brought the news to 'er about 'er man cheating, it was always someone in their pocket. She'd deal with it, the bloke would get a quick tour of the river bottom, she'd get back to running the business for awhile and they'd be all 'appy again - Johnny, mostly cause 'e 'ad expensive tastes. Well, so did Montgomery, but, see, 'E was the jealous type too. When Connie 'ad a fella, she forgot Montgomery was alive; when she was in-between, things got all fired up between them, really started the sheets burning. He didn't like doing without that for too long."

Garrison frowned, "I thought he was her brother," getting a wry smile, "well, 'alf-brother, though don't know that would've made 'er any difference anyway. What Connie Farrell wanted, she got. She liked 'er men with some looks to them, and you saw Montgomery, a right 'andsome one. She'd 'ave taken up with Johnny too, full brother or not, cept 'is face looked like a cross tween a pug and a sheep, you know?"

Casino shook his head at all that, "so, you and this Connie broad. What was the connection? She decide to make an exception to her 'good looks' requirement?"

"She 'ad the notion of adding someone with my talents to 'er operation," stopping midsentence to glare at a smirking Casino, "the second-story stuff, the sticky fingers. Anyway, we 'ad a meeting or two; I wasn't much interested, but trying to keep it polite, not get 'er back up, seeing as 'ow I wanted to keep breathing, you know? 'Ad a real nasty temper, she did. Then that next meeting in 'er office, she gets all coy and flirty, started in on the 'fringe benefits' of my joining, and seems she was one of those 'fringe benefits'. Made my blood just about chill even thinking on it; even leaving out everything else, she just wasn't my cup a tea! But she was getting real insistent."

"Seems she'd decided if instead of keeping 'er men on the outside, if she chose 'er men from inside the organization, brought any new likely ones into the organization, sort of dual-purpose, you know, she could keep a better eye on whoever was filling 'er bed, keep 'im in line and away from any other females. Decided maybe instead of 'aving just one in 'er pocket, might just rotate those she fancied, and she'd decided she maybe fancied me. She was getting all wound up just thinking about it, looked like to me. From my side of the fence, it looked like a narrow 'ard berth followed right along with a cold wet grave".

"Well, finally got tired of arguing and dodging, and just told 'er 'ow I didn't see that would 'elp so much, probably just make the brothers find some OTHER way to get rid of 'er men, bring 'er attention back to the business, like they'd been doing all along. Ruddy 'ell, that WAS dumb, I guess, but I never figured she didn't KNOW what was 'appening, not really. I mean, she was the SMART one of the three, you know?? If I figured it out, not even being IN 'er organization . . . Anyway, she stops chasing, and sits down and starts asking questions. Next thing I know, she's yelling for Johnny and Montgomery and it's all 'itting the fan, everyone yelling and screaming and me just trying to dodge out the door, only I'm on the far side of the room. She pulls a gun on them, waving it around, Johnny and Montgomery jump at 'er, and I'm caught in the middle, trying to push my way around them. Gun pops a couple, three times."

"Still can't really say w'at really 'appened. I get to the door, turn for one last look. She's down, all bloody around the 'ead, and so is Johnny, laid out flat. Montgomery's standing there like 'e's shell-shocked, and I'm out the door and down to the wharfs and bound for Ireland with nothing more than what I could snatch from one of my hidey-holes. Stayed there til I got word of two gents asking around about me, recognize the description, then I'm 'eaded out for the States."

"So, I don't know, maybe it WAS me, maybe I tipped 'er back and she banged 'er 'ead on that big desk when I shoved my way through; I know I never laid a finger on the gun. But, comes down to it, it was me telling 'er about the brothers that led up to it all. W'at got 'er killed. Broke up the organization, w'at it came down to, since they didn't 'ave the brains to keep it going without 'er."

There was silence, and then Casino snorted and shook his head. "Just what the hell is it with you and the bossy females with the tempers? Seems like yer a magnet for the managing type, ya know? First this Connie, then . . ." and the hair on the back of his neck went up as the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. He refused to turn his head to meet the gold-brown eyes he knew were staring at him. He quickly recovered, "then that Justine broad in Switzerland. Lucky Meghada came along; she can keep those baracudas away." (Story - 'Mission on Neutral Ground'). And the air warmed slightly, but he still made sure not to make eye contact, at least til his heart regained a more normal rhythm. {"Talk about dumb!!!"} Him keeping his eyes firmly focused on his glass kept him from seeing the knowing amused smiles that flickered around the room. Even Goniff gave a quick sly look out of the corner of his eye to the exceedingly dangerous redhead who was looking at Casino as if she was deciding what to serve as a side course after she'd baked, or maybe broiled, the safecracker. 

Another couple of drinks, the expected lecture ending with that firm admonition from Garrison "next time, you TELL us if you're in trouble, you hear me??!", assorted other words to the same effect from the other guys, some of those words not so flattering as to their opinion of his intelligence.

From Meghada, later, in private, just a quiet, "I'm a Dragon, laddie, not a fool. Don't take me for one." Then a slow wicked smile, "though I might have to admit to 'managing', 'bossy', and 'tempery'. Still, I have to say Casino did make a rather quick save there." She looked at him, appraisingly, "and by the way, just who is 'Justine'?"

And he threw back his head and laughed, the first time he'd done that since this whole thing started. Pulling her closer, he shook his head in amusement, remembering. "Oh, 'ave I got a story to tell you!!!"

And she lay back in his arms as he recounted that lovely little con, both sides, well, ALL sides of it, and they were both well content. They'd all made it through one more battle, he was still part of the team, they were together, and she was beside him, and for now, that was enough. {"Ruddy 'ell, that's more than enough,"} he thought as he smiled down at her. Especially since he'd never expected to live through the night.

He did have an uneasy thought, remembering all else that was in that big basket of dirty laundry, but put it out of his mind for now, in favor of bringing the temperature of THESE sheets up to a burning roar. No sense borrowing trouble; he'd deal with it when the time came. And he grinned into the darkness, remembering that lecture he'd gotten, {"no, sounds like WE'LL deal with it when the time comes, all of us together. They'll likely 'ave my 'ead if I try and shut them out again."}. That was an amazingly good feeling, one he could get accustomed to real easy. He shifted his full attention back to the warm body in his arms, and went to work on seeing just how high he could fan those flames.


End file.
